ABCJ02—Coming Things
by VST
Summary: In Story #5—When Amanda Wickwire confronts Dixie Cousins over Brisco, harsh words may be spoken and feathers may fly. Drama. Written for the WA Random Opener Challenge. See beginning of earlier stories for their summaries.
1. Story 1: Socrates' Sunday Sleep-in

**ABCJ02—Coming Things**  
By VStarTraveler

_**Summary:**_ _A planned collection of standalone but loosely-connected short stories about characters from the series._

_**Disclaimer:**_ _This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., is entirely my own. The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., and any and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners._

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**Story 1: Socrates' Sunday Sleep-in**

_**Summary:**_ _Socrates awakens after a long, late night to thoughts of how he hopes for and will deal with Brisco's often-promised "coming thing."_

_This story takes place on the morning after the conclusion to "When Dixie Calls," but no knowledge of that story is required. It was written for and winner of the Caesar's Palace February 2019 Monthly One-shot Contest, with the prompt adjusting to a change._

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Socrates Poole awoke to the sounds of birds twittering outside and the tickle of a stray hair bothering his nose.

It had been a very late night and the ever-dapper lawyer really wasn't ready to get up to begin a new day. There had been more champagne toasts than he could remember—three or four at least. Whatever the number, it considerably exceeded his usual tolerance for alcohol, but he was surprised to not be suffering from a hangover. No, he actually felt good, the bed was quite comfortable, and all seemed right with the world. Therefore, he decided to stay right where he was and enjoy it; however, it went further than that. Since it was Sunday and was his day off, he didn't even want to know the time so he kept his eyes shut and gave a little puff that sent the offending hair out of the way.

That little action, though, was all it took to cause a number of thoughts to start racing through his mind.

First, he'd initially felt bad about not being in on the rescue of Dixie and the apprehension of the outlaws behind it all. He felt like the odd man out, as the only one of their group who hadn't personally been present to observe the events on the ships or the pier. Even the professor was there, creating the diversion that allowed the plan to succeed. As the party continued, he felt worse and worse so he'd pulled Brisco aside and apologized.

"Soc, everybody's got strengths and weaknesses. Yours are different than mine and different than Bowler's—

"Ahem, some of yours and Bowler's are pretty similar."

"Well, true, but can you imagine Bowler in front of a courtroom or me appraising antiques and fine collectibles?"

"Truthfully, Brisco, I really couldn't imagine Bowler doing that last part either until I saw it with my own eyes."

Brisco laughed. "Touché, as they say. Seriously, Socrates, I don't know if we would have ever found Dixie without your efforts. You know how to open doors and record books that would have been sealed tight for the rest of us. More importantly, while we might have figured out what some of the things meant eventually, you knew how to do it efficiently and quickly before the bad guys disappeared for good with Dixie. You helped bring her home safe."

He knew that was quite true, but he still felt bad that his assigned station, rather than being out in the action, had been to stay at the Westerfield Club and liaison with the government men and the San Francisco police and the fire departments via the newfangled telephone recently installed in his office. Brisco said everyone would have one of those scratchy-sounding devices before long, and some might even put them in every room in their house so they could call from room to room. Personally, Soc suspected that his friend was pulling his leg on that, but once again, the bounty hunter with an eye for the "coming thing" had predicted how the device could be used to make their plan work better.

Another tiny tickle of his nose led to another puff, getting rid of the offending hair once more and allowing him to think of the countless changes in society and in his own life. Brisco was always talking about and looking for the "coming thing," and he'd told Socrates that there was a flood of such changes like the telephone already on the way.

"Just look at that silly game, Soc. Almost nobody but a bunch of guys in skirts played it for hundreds of years until someone suddenly realized that they were pushing the wrong outfit for it. Dress the guys up in snazzy outfits to impress the ladies at the club afterwards and suddenly everybody, even the ladies, wants to play and you can sell them the suits. By the way, how's your game coming along?"

Socrates was indeed enjoying his golf game, though he was still somewhat shocked at the cost of replacing windows. Another change he was hoping Brisco was right about was the coming of horseless carriages. Though he had to ride from time to time, Socrates was not a fan of horses in general and the sooner most of the beasts could be relegated to stables in the countryside, the better.

Despite the changes they were bringing to society, none of the coming things were quite as momentous to Socrates as the change he was experiencing in his own life. That change was entirely due to a woman, or more accurately, two women. As a result, for the first time in his life, he actually had an interest in the fairer sex.

He and Brisco had spoken about it recently on more than one occasion. "Someday, Socrates, you'll find the love and happiness you're seeking," Brisco told him.

"But Brisco, you and Dixie love each other but you guys aren't together."

His friend's face dropped. "Soc, Dix and I love each other and we know that. We'll be together someday, but things are sort of complicated between us right now. We've both got things we're trying to work out so when the time's finally right—hey! Wait! Why are you comparing us? We're a terrible example!"

Brisco's explanation clearly pained him and he said nothing more about his own problem, but focused instead on Socrates. "Someday, you'll find somebody who'll love you for who you are, Soc. There are a lot of women out there, and there's somebody out there for you, some woman who's going to make you happy, someone who you can be with forever."

Socrates' problem was, with the exception of his mother, he had never been close to women. Even his relationship with Iphy had always been more like a competitor than a girl. While his little sister had been out climbing trees, fishing, riding her horse around town, or doing other tomboy-like things, he'd usually been inside rereading _The Odyssey_ or _Ivanhoe_ or some other favorite for the twentieth time. They'd drifted even farther apart once he left for college. Only in recent months, since her horrible experience with Jack Randolph, had they finally bonded again as adults and begun to have something of a real brother-sister relationship.

He'd even sent Iphigenia a letter about the big change in his life, but he'd had a difficult time coming right out and saying it. Therefore, he'd couched the discussion in euphemistic terms that Iphy had missed entirely. Her reply was actually quite humorous as a result but was absolutely no help at all in solving his problem.

The problem itself had started almost a year before when he was called to a lunch meeting with Misters Kilbride, Drummond, and Emerson, the executive committee representing his employers.

"Socrates, we've been pleased with the work you're doing for us, but we've noticed that you've had to be away as on-site assistance to Mr. County on more than one occasion."

"But Mr. Drummond, I can explain—"

"No need, son," said the crusty Mr. Kilbride. "You've done a _very_ thorough—but outstanding, mind you—job with that in your reports."

"Indeed," added Mr. Emerson. "Which is why we're here."

Drummond continued, "Yes, your workload has been heavier than we originally anticipated so we've taken the liberty of hiring you a personal assistant. She's been working for me for the past week to learn the ropes and has proven herself to be diligent and very efficient."

"And she's quite gentle on the eyes, too," added Kilbride with a wink.

Miss Rita Avnet turned out to be both efficient and beautiful as they'd said. In a matter of days, Socrates was finding her efforts indispensable. In that same time, they were also falling head over heels for each other, or so Socrates believed. While it didn't turn out as he wished, the experience opened his eyes; he didn't want to be a bachelor all the days of his life. He wanted to live and love and know the happiness that he'd experienced ever-so-briefly with Miss Avnet in that delightful time before her treachery had been exposed and she'd tried so desperately to kill him and his friends.

It was after that, over a period of several months, he'd slowly started to see the second woman as possibly something more than a friend. It started as an occasional short talk about Brisco or Bowler or their case, but then it slowly developed into short, slightly broader discussions that sometimes strayed into their personal lives, skipping the bounty hunters altogether.

Then, one night a few weeks before when her hand brushed his, it was electric, causing him to tingle all over and his tongue to tie up as if in Gordium's famous knot. He looked up at her with fear in his eyes, not knowing what to do or say. Rather than run away, she surprised him by giving him a smile and a little hand squeeze. "See you tomorrow, Socrates?"

That tiny bit of encouragement was what he needed to return the next night and the next. Their little talks slowly became real conversations that lingered on about life and family and even touched on hopes and dreams. It was the night when he looked at his watch to find that it was already 2 AM that he finally realized that he really and truly cared about this remarkable woman.

Since that time, it had been a constant struggle, trying to organize the thoughts he was feeling, but despite reading every word that Shakespeare ever wrote at least a half dozen times, he couldn't put his own thoughts, his feelings, into words. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him and how he cared for her, but his written attempts were laughable compared to the great works of the Bard. He also knew that even if he were to somehow get them perfect on the page, if he tried to speak them aloud, he would stutter and stammer and stumble over them, becoming unable to continue, making the situation even more laughable. She would never want to see him again.

Therefore, each night when he was in town, their discussions continued, but Socrates never strayed across that fine line that might damage their relationship as it was. Still, somehow, someday, he had to find the perfect words to tell her so he could find out if she felt anything for him, to learn if this change in his heart was more than his alone.

Socrates' nose twitched again as that bothersome hair settled down to tickle him again. This time, though, instead of blowing, he opened his eyes to blurry vision to see a hand just inches from his face holding a lock of dark hair with one or two hairs hanging down below it. Startled, his eyes widened as the hand drew back and a giggle sounded next to him.

Fumbling for his glasses and seeing surroundings he didn't recognize as he turned, he was embarrassed and afraid as he suddenly remembered the end of the night before. He wasn't in his own bedroom in his own apartment. He was at—

"Ellie!"

"Good morning, Socrates," she said softly as she let herself down from her propped elbow where she'd been observing him. She gently set his glasses in place on his face and then rested her chin in her hands on his chest, looking at him with that smile that caused his heart to pitter-patter so wildly. He was, he noticed, still wearing his shirt—and, he realized, his pants—from the night before. "I thought you were awake," she added.

"Ahem," he stammered as he adjusted his glasses and shifted around to better see her looking at his face, into his eyes. She was still dressed in her same outfit, too. He almost quivered as he looked at her, but in that moment, he realized that the change that had been coming wasn't coming after all. It was, as Brisco once explained, already here. It was then, too, that the words with which he had struggled for so long finally came to him. Rather than the eloquent, flowery words of the poets, the words he most needed to say were surprisingly simple.

"Ellie, I, ah...ah...I love you."

She had a sympathetic look as she gave a slow shake of her head. "Oh, Socrates. Don't you think I know that?"

With his eyes wide, she kissed the tips of two fingers and then brushed his lips with them before adding, "Actually, it's really nice to hear you say it, but I've known that for a good while. Do you honestly think you'd be here in my bed if I didn't? And if I didn't love you, too?"

A goofy grin broke across Socrates' face. "You...you love me, too?"

Her shake became a nod as she smiled at him and said, "I do, Socrates. I love you, too."

The joyous feeling he initially experienced at their exchange changed to a growing excitement as Ellie's lips touched his for the first time. He responded, taking her into his arms when their kiss continued. As it did, Socrates realized that sometimes change isn't exactly what you're looking for or what you're expecting. Sometimes it's even better.

_The End_

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_**Author's Note:**_

_Thanks so much for reading. If you enjoyed the story (or if you have constructive criticism of it) please let me know._

_Mr. Kilbride, Mr. Drummond, and Mr. Emerson were played in two episodes each by veteran western actors Paul Brinegar, Robert Fuller, and James Drury, respectively. They were some of the leaders of the San Francisco businessmen that Brisco called the robber barons and were responsible for hiring Brisco to track down the Bly Gang due to the damage it was causing their interests._

_Miss Rita Avnet, played by Andrea Parker, appeared in two episodes opposite Socrates._

_The Gordian Knot was supposedly located in Phrygia Gordium. There are different versions of the legend but it was said to be an impossibly tangled knot that an oracle declared would be undone by the man destined to become ruler of all of Asia. Alexander the Great dealt with it in an unconventional way on his way to conquering the east._

_Ellie, played by Yvette Nipar, appeared in three episodes of the series, starting off as a waitress at the Horseshoe Club but seemed to take more of a management role by the last episode. It was in that episode that we see Socrates and her speaking, as if there could be a spark between them. Unfortunately, she didn't get to return for another episode, but I like to believe she might have done so if the show had continued for Season Two._


	2. Story 2: A Little Misunderstanding

**Story 2: A Little Misunderstanding**

**_Summary:_** _A problem when checking in to their hotel leads to a frank discussion between Brisco and Bowler, with both learning more about the other's perspective._

_Philosophy/humor._

_This story was written for Black History Month, 2019._

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"Room 207, Mr. Merriweather. Top of the stairs, fourth room on the right."

Brisco County, Jr., using his Roscoe Merriweather alias, replied, "Thank you. What about Ernie?"

The desk clerk frowned at Lord Bowler and said, "Mr. Palts can stay in the servants' quarters, out back."

"What?" exclaimed Bowler, as if about to reach across the desk.

Brisco stepped forward, between Bowler and the man on the other side of the counter. "I have this, Ernie." Looking at the clerk, Brisco continued, 'I'm sorry but what was your name?"

The man looked frightened as he practically withered under Bowler's angry glare. "Uh, Paul."

"Well, Uh-Paul, it seems there's a little misunderstanding that needs to be corrected. See, my friend Ernie—Mr. Palts, to you—isn't a servant, but he _has _servants—or at least an English butler and a gardener who comes in and works a couple of days a week. Mr. Palts, does that qualify the gardener as a servant or would you classify him as an independent contractor? Well, whatever. Anyway, 'being' versus 'having,' mixing them together with all that confusing verb conjugation back in school—you did go to school, right, Uh-Paul?"

The frightened and confused clerk drew his eyes away from Bowler's and looked at Brisco. "Ye-ah."

Brisco smiled. "Well that explains it then! I can sort of see how you might have gotten confused and made that error, but you know what they say about mistakes: don't compound them and make them worse. Just make an apology for your mistake and then be a good fellow and reach right up there get one of those keys to a room next to or right across from 207. That will be a great way of starting to make things right."

"But we don't allow—"

"Yourself to stick your foot any farther down your throat than it already is, right? Very smart, Uh-Paul! Now, that key, please."

The desk clerk reached up and slowly pulled the key to room 209 from its hook. "Ah, sorry, Mr. Palts. Right next to Mr. Merriweather's."

~ABCJ~

Minutes later at the diner after stowing their gear in their rooms, Bowler's scowl finally faded to a grin. "You had him so confused, Brisco, I think he'd have given ya' the crown jewels, if he'd had 'em. Hee hee. But you didn't have to do that. I had it and wouldn't have lost it on him. Not too bad, anyway. This bounty's too important for it."

"I know, Bowler, but it gets really tiresome seeing people like that look down on others just because of they're so tall."

"Tall? Whatcha' talkin' about, Brisco?" Bowler was scowling again. "It's 'cause I'm black."

Brisco nodded. "We both know that, but think about it. Would it make any more sense if people looked down on you because you're tall?"

"No, course not. That's pretty stupid."

"Right, besides the fact that there aren't too many people who would be able to look down on you from that height—"

Bowler cracked a smile.

"—but does it make even a bit more sense for people to look down on black, red, yellow, or tan people, or people of any other color for that matter, just because they're different?"

Bowler was nodding as he laughed. "Hee hee hee. I see what you mean, Brisco. Tall! Hee hee hee."

"Sometimes we have to use a ludicrous example to show others how absurd their preconceived ideas and misconceptions are. If we can do that, then maybe we can help make things different in time."

"You think we'll ever see that time, Brisco?"

"I really don't know for sure, Bowler, but I think it's coming."

"Another one of your comin' things?"

"In a way," said Brisco as his face become serious, "but it's more difficult than something the professor or some other inventor has to sit down and think about and work on for a few hours or a few years. This affects lots of people and it's a big change for some of them. It may take years, decades, or maybe even generations, but we have to make people see it and understand so it keeps getting better with each one that passes. We have to stand up and show that we're all basically the same, that the color of our skin is just like wrapping paper that hides the good stuff inside us all. Over time, we'll all have opportunities to make things better for ourselves and our children. Just look at you; you've made it big."

"We've talked about that, Brisco."

"True, but you were successful before we started working together, too. Young people see that and they look up to you. Well, even if you're sitting down."

"But I'm a single person or part of a partnership if we look at the two of us. Havin' one person be successful doesn't mean everybody will be."

"That's true, too, Bowler, but if you can show the kids a bunch of examples of successful people to show they have a chance—"

Bowler frowned. "Brisco, there can only be _so_ many successful manhunters before it starts bitin' into _our_ profits."

"It's not just bounty hunting, it's in whatever field you can name. Look at Booker Washington. You've heard of him. He's in charge of a college for black people in Alabama, but I've read that he's working to help make black business people successful all across the country. It goes a long way beyond that, too. That college is going to help educate people and they'll take what they learn into their communities, into their families, and before long, there'll be more demand for more black colleges."

"A black college isn't goin' to be like a white college, Brisco."

"Oh, maybe not at first, Bowler, but were you the best bounty hunter you could be when you first started out? No? It takes time for you to learn and do better, and the new colleges will do that, too. But it's not just black colleges, either. Someday, I see colleges as not being black colleges or white colleges, but just, ahem, colleges, having black and white students working and studying together."

"Okay, Brisco, you're joshin' me now, right?"

"Nope, it's already started. I just recently read in the newspaper about a young black fellow at Iowa State University. Name of Carver, I think. He just finished his degree a few weeks ago—first black student to do that there—and it sounds like he's one of those guys that's going to make a difference. He's so good that his professors asked him to stay on and get another degree."

"Hmm. Maybe," agreed Bowler. "Still..."

"Okay, Bowler. You're originally from the Indian Territory. Have you ever heard of a guy by the name of Bass Reeves?"

"Name sounds familiar. Is there a wanted poster out on him?"

Brisco laughed. "Hardly. He's a deputy U.S. marshal out that way. My dad once said he was one of the best."

"So?" Seeing Brisco's look, Bowler added, "You're not going to tell me he's black?"

"You got it. He's the first black marshal in the west."

"Really? A black deputy U.S. marshal. Who'd have thought?"

"That's the key, Bowler. When people look up to them, it's one thing, but when things like Bass Reeves being a marshal or black and white students studying together become so commonplace that we don't question whether they could be real, we'll finally be making progress on people accepting each other without racism or racial prejudice. And that, my friend, will be a good day."

"Yep, a really good day," agreed Bowler as the waitress arrived with their plates.

They ate in silence, but when they were done, Brisco said, "You seemed to be concentrating on something."

"You talked about lookin' up to people who were good examples."

Brisco looked confused. "Yeah, young people do it all the time."

Bowler set his face as if making a decision. "Okay, we got any bounties out toward the Oklahoma and Indian Territories?"

"I don't know of any at the moment, Bowler. Why?"

Leaning back in his chair, Bowler hooked his thumbs in his lapels and said, "Brisco, I'm kinda' like these young kids we're talkin' about. I always looked up to my mama. She's a good woman, helped make me what I am today. She's back that way in the Territories and I haven't seen her in a good while. I'm gonna' stop in to see her sometime soon when we're out that way, and if we get a chance, I think I'd like to meet this Marshal Reeves guy, too."

_The End_

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**_Author's Note:_**

_Thanks for reading. Your feedback will be greatly appreciated, too._

__Ernie Palts was another of Lord Bowler's aliases. His real name was James Lonefeather, but he never willingly went by that.__

_As noted above, this story was written for Black History Month. The three featured historical figures were chosen because they were known or becoming known around the time of this story both in and beyond the African American community._

_Born into slavery, Booker T. Washington became President of Tuskegee Institute in 1881. He was one of the primary leaders of the African American community in the United States from shortly around that time until his death in 1915. He worked to build the black community's economic strength and pride by focusing on self-help through building black-owned businesses and increasing educational opportunities for African Americans. He also privately supported court challenges to segregation and restrictions on voter registration._

_George Washington Carver finished his undergraduate thesis and graduated from Iowa State in 1894, but then, at the urging of some of the professors, stayed on for his Master of Science degree. Booker T. Washington invited Carver to head the Agriculture Department at Tuskegee in 1896, and Carver was to spend the rest of his life working at the university and helping improve the lives of African Americans and all people. _

_Deputy U.S. Marshal Bass Reeves was born into slavery in 1838. After being freed in 1865 with the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, he became the first African American deputy U.S. marshal west of the Mississippi in 1875, and was said to have been responsible for arresting about 3,000 wanted felons during his career. Being on the frontier and frequently being far from help, that was a remarkable record, but it was also a dangerous job. He killed fourteen outlaws defending himself in the line of duty. He retired from the Marshal Service in 1907 at the age of 68 when Oklahoma became a state, but then went to work as a policeman for the Muskogee, Oklahoma Police Department for the two years before having to retire due to illness. He died in 1910 at age 71. Some modern writers have hypothesized that he and his career may have served as the inspiration for the fictional Lone Ranger, but personally, I've long suspected that he may have been the inspiration for Lord Bowler. I later found that the late Julius Carry was knowledgable of Reeves, __saying that "Reeves always got his man and would often pull off incredible tricks to bring people in."_

_On the show, Bowler was half black, half Cherokee, so it makes sense that he'd be from what is now the eastern part of Oklahoma. In the opening credits of the pilot, I believe Julius Carry's name was shown panning over the map in this part of the country, too. _


	3. Story 3: Dolly's Visit

**Story 3: Dolly's Visit**

_**Summary: **__Dolly Cousins always found herself wanting what her sister Dixie had and she'd sometimes go to almost any length to get it. Dixie knew it and Dolly knew Dixie knew it, so Dolly didn't figure it should be a big surprise..._

_Family/humor._

_This story was written for The Room Forum's 2019 Pi Day Challenge._

__Publish Date: 3/14/19 (Pi Day, of course!)__

* * *

_Tap tap tap tap._

"Dolly? Dolly! Wake up!"

Dolly Cousins pried open one eye and then the other as she identified her sister's nagging voice through the door. She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head to muffle the noise but the tapping and calling continued.

Dolly was on a brief visit to see her sister in San Francisco following Dixie's abduction and rescue a few weeks earlier. Dolly couldn't believe that her sister had been that close to Reno again and not just come to see her there rather than making Dolly come all the way to the big city. That, technically, Dixie was at the mercy of her abductors and wasn't really free to choose her destinations during that period hadn't even crossed Dolly's mind.

"Okay, don't say I didn't ask!" called Dixie through the door.

"What?" yelled Dolly as she threw the pillow at the door. As she released it, she remembered that she'd promised that nice Lord Bowler she wouldn't break anything. They were, after all, staying at his house while he was away.

_"Not mentioning any names__—Socrates," he coughed, "—__but last time I let somebody stay here, they broke a bunch of my fine crystal and china and I'm still trying to replace some of it." _

_Bowler had been like a big, grumpy bear when he said it, but Dolly had batted her eyes and moved in close to give him her get-out-of-jail-free smile—well, it had worked that one time. _

_"I promise I won't break anything," agreed Dolly, playing as coy and demure as she could be. _

_"Well, okay then," said Bowler, raising an eyebrow at Dixie for confirmation, as if Dolly's big sis was going to play enforcer of the rule. That irritated Dolly and caused her to wonder if she should break something after all to get Dixie in trouble. Or, better yet, trick Dixie into breaking it!  
_

The pillow hit the door and bounced off without damaging anything but also without Dixie even knowing of her rebellious act.

"Do you need anything at the market?"

Her hair in shambles and her nightdress wrinkled, Dolly yawned as she climbed out of bed and unlocked the door. Opening it, she saw her sister standing outside with her fists balled on cocked hips with an expectant, half-perturbed look on her face. It annoyed Dolly just a bit to see that her sister could always be up and so beautiful so early in the morning. She yawned even as she was asking, "What time is it?"

Dixie's vexed look went full bore as she replied, "It's one-thirty in the afternoon, Dolly. I asked if you need anything at the market."

Dolly yawned again. "Market? You just went to the market yesterday? And why can't you send Reggie?"

"I have a few things I want to get fresh for tonight. Bowler and Brisco are coming home and I have the night off from the Horseshoe Club so I'm fixing us something special. And his name's Reginald. English butlers are all about proper," Dixie said, pronouncing the last word with an imitation of an English accent that almost caused Dolly to burst out laughing. "They don't curse, use contractions, or ascribe to cutesy diminutives, particularly for their own names. The poor man might drop dead in his tracks if he heard you calling him 'Reggie.'"

Dolly grinned. "He's not here to hear, is he?"

Dixie even grinned at that as she shook her head. "No, he's not back from his holiday until tomorrow, as I've already told you, what? Twice?"

Having gotten the desired rise out of her sister, Dolly moved on, saying, "Coffee. Lots of coffee."

"Pot already on the stove, though you'll have to warm it up."

"Cream."

"Already on my list, though there's a little left in the ice box for your coffee. I left you half of it."

Oh, maybe one more tweak. "Genuine French brie?"

Dixie smiled and patted Dolly's cheek. "Fat chance, sis."

Dolly watched the lovely dress as Dixie turned and walked away, thinking that she'd really like to borrow it someday.

~ABCJ~

Once she had her hair in order and was dressed in something that came at least somewhat close to equaling Dixie's fashion, Dolly headed downstairs. She'd only gone two or three steps down when she smelled it and had only taken two or three more before she'd identified the source: pie! Not just any pie, it was her favorite, cherry pie! She stopped and drew a long breath, delighting in that distinctive aroma for a moment before following the smell with her nose toward Bowler's kitchen.

On entering, she saw it, sitting on a the counter cooling. The lattice crust on top was a delightful golden brown with red cherries and filling visible below it. Stepping up to the countertop, she bent down so her nose was only a couple of inches away and then breathed deeply as her eyes drifted closed.

_It's better than men,_ she decided as she sighed on exhaling. _Well, most men anyway._

Unfortunately, it was Dixie's pie, probably made for the celebration tonight as her man returned home.

_Her man! Oh, if Brisco had only chosen me when he had the chance. _Dolly huffed in frustration thinking of how Dixie had won again. Of course, Dolly knew she was up against true love in that case, but still, losing to her sister once again weighed heavily on her. _Someday, sis!_

She turned to see the coffee sitting on the big, cast iron stove. It wasn't hot but was warm enough that she could avoid tending the fire box, thereby leaving it to Dixie to clean. That brought a smile to her face as she poured a cup and opened the ice box to find the cream.

The modern world had brought many advances but the ice box was one that frustrated her. With the advent of the electrical light bulb, surely someone could invent an electrical ice box! It could produce its own ice to keep the food cool so one wouldn't have to lug in the big chunk of ice from the ice company every few days and empty the tray that collected all of the water from the ice that had melted.

_I'll have to tell Brisco! He's always looking for the coming thing, so maybe he'll like it. If so, maybe it will even get Dixie's goat! _She smiled at the thought.

As she poured the cream and stirred her coffee, her eyes kept drifting back to that pie. It looked so...delicious...and inviting, and every second that she smelled it, she wanted it more.

_It's Dixie's pie. But...she didn't tell me not to have a piece. She just left it right out on the counter. There's not even a "don't eat me" sign. She'd be so mad at me—"_

The realization that this could be the way to irritate her sister without breaking any of Bowler's crystal or china or her own promise brought her grin back with a vengeance. She quickly found a dessert plate, a knife, and a fork before she had time to change her mind.

Still, she hesitated as the knife hovered over the top of the lattice crust, wondering if she should do it, but only for a moment. The knife sank into the pie and she cut out a generous wedge, using the fork to lift it out onto the little plate. It was still warm so the filling oozed out, leading her to wipe a small trail with her finger before licking it off to savor the taste. She practically quivered with the guiltiest of pleasures as she sat down at the table and then dug in for a bite.

Minutes later, the wedge was gone and the plate was practically clean. She got up and started toward the sink.

_Wait! One more little piece! That won't hurt anything._

She looked at the pie, its perfection already ruined by the wedge she'd removed, so she decided to listen to her inner hunger. She quickly cut another piece and started eating it.

As she took the last bite, she realized that her tummy was full and that she'd probably eaten and done more than she should. She'd eaten almost half of the pie, so there probably wouldn't be enough for dessert tonight. Guilt settled over her as the pie settled on her stomach.

Despite always trying to get to Dixie and make her mad, Dolly really did love her big sister. Now, she wondered if she'd taken her little prank too far. She wanted to make Dixie upset, but not to make her furious. Dolly didn't want to have another period like the last time when they didn't speak to each other for what seemed like ages.

_I've got to do something about this! No time to make another one! What can I do?_

Glancing around the room, she noticed the back door the man used to bring in the ice for the ice box. Checking, she found it unlocked, so she quickly formulated a plan. She washed her cup, the dessert plate, and the silverware before drying them and putting them away. Then, despite being full, she used her hands to mess up the edges of the pie that remained, making it look like someone had eaten it with their fingers. She made a mess on the counter next to the pie, too, and quickly washed her hands before starting out of the room. That's when she noticed the coffee pot.

She'd only had one cup so there was still a little left in the pot, but Dixie would notice if it was gone. Therefore, Dolly took off the top and slowly added more water until the pot was about as full as before. With it being cold, she knew Dixie wouldn't want another cup. Then, she quickly went back upstairs, cleaned her face and teeth, changed back into the wrinkled nightgown, mussed her hair, and jumped back in bed just before she heard the front door open.

_Dixie will never know! She'll never figure it out. I got away with it!_

Dolly hid her grin as she forced a yawn to complete her fabricated alibi.

~ABCJ~

"Dolly! Wake up, sis," said Dixie excitedly as she rushed into Dolly's room a little while later. "There's been a break-in downstairs!"

Dolly forced another yawn. "Huh? What's going on?" She hadn't thought of scaring Dixie with the break-in idea, but it was an added bonus. She was practically pinching herself to keep from smiling.

"The back door was open and someone came right in."

"Ooh! Did they take anything?" Dolly's eyes were wide, hoping that it was an appropriately fearful look.

"Yes, and no. It wasn't anything important, but they ate the pie sitting on the counter that I'd left to cool."

"Pie? What kind of pie?" asked Dolly innocently.

Dixie sighed. "It was your favorite: cherry pie. Fortunately, they only ate part of it, so I was able to save a great big piece for you! It will be great for your breakfast since it's just the right temperature now. And I warmed up the rest of the coffee and brought it up for you, too."

"Oh, no, Dixie. I'm just waking up. I don't want anything right now."

"Now, you're being silly. Look, I brought me a piece, too, to share with you," said Dixie, pointing to the bed tray she was standing over Dolly's lap as the younger Cousins sat up in the bed. "Yum, yum!"

Dolly's tried to avoid making a face when she saw the size of her piece compared to the narrow slice that Dixie picked up and started eating. She was already feeling a little sick from eating so much, but now Dixie was shoving another piece in front of her. She knew it would make her sister suspicious if she didn't eat it; after all, Dolly always did enjoy a good breakfast.

"Here, drink this coffee, too," said Dixie. "It's a good thing I got more cream. I thought we had a little left in the ice box but it looks like we were out after all." When Dixie added the cream, the coffee turned to a very light beige rather than the medium brown that Dolly preferred. She took a sip and it was all she could do to avoid making a face at the weak, watered-down brew.

One bite followed another as Dixie smiled and encouraged her to eat all of the pie and drink all of the coffee. The whole time, Dolly was forcing a smile, nodding and pretending to enjoy the pie, wondering if she was going to throw up the entire thing. When she was done, she let out a sigh that she hoped Dixie would take as being a sign of contentment rather than relief that she'd finished it all.

"Say, there's a little left downstairs," said Dixie. "Let me go get the rest of it for you."

As Dixie started to rise from her chair to go get it, Dolly said, "No! No, it was great, Dixie, but I've eaten enough. Got to maintain my girlish figure, you know."

Dixie nodded. "I know, Sis, which surprises me that you were able to eat the whole piece."

Dolly gave Dixie a confused look, which Dixie answered by saying, "I love you, Dolly, but you'll have to wake up earlier next time to fool me. You may have washed your hands but you forgot to clean the pie filling from under your fingernails."

Dolly said a curse word as she quickly looked at her fingernails only to say another one when she saw there was no pie filling or anything else under her nails. Looking back up, she saw Dixie was nodding knowingly and she realized she'd given herself away. "Dixie! You tricked me."

"Yes, but only someone guilty would have fallen for it."

Dolly huffed. "So how'd you know?"

"I saved you half of the cream, but it's all gone now. The coffee, which was good earlier, tastes like watered-down swill—yes, I checked when I saw how light it was when I poured your cup—and only my sneaky, little sister would try to cover up eating the pie—that I actually made for her, by the way—by blaming it on someone else."

Dolly's face sank as her shoulders slumped in surrender. "You knew, but you made me eat that huge piece of pie and drink that dishwater anyway?"

"No, I gave you the chance to eat it or come clean, but you didn't want to get caught—remember, you've never wanted to—so you did like you always do, whatever it takes to get away with it. Of course, I did glance at your nails first when I was giving you the pie and was a little disappointed that you'd washed them well enough to wash away the evidence, but it became pretty obvious when you took longer to eat that pie than I've ever seen you take. Oh, the face you were making with the coffee, too!" Dixie laughed as Dolly frowned at her.

"The coffee _was_ horrible."

"Well, _I_ wasn't the one who watered it down. And I really would have made you a fresh pot if you'd just come clean about it." Dixie gave Dolly what was probably intended as a compassionate look, but Dolly couldn't help but think of it as her sappy "I won again" smile.

As Dolly sat the tray over to the side out of the way, she said, "Dixie, I love you, Sis, but you exasperate me sometimes."

"I know, Sis. I love you, too, and I'm just as exasperated by yo-ugh!"

Dolly threw her pillow just right this time, hitting Dixie right in the stomach. The room was soon filled with friendly shouts, sisterly laughter, and lots of flying feathers.

~ABCJ~

"Dinner was mighty good, Dixie," said Bowler, "but this pie! Umm, umm! Good! I don't know if I'd have been able to smell that all day without diggin' in earlier."

Brisco, having just taken another bite, was clearly savoring his piece as he nodded in agreement. However, Dolly's face reddened as Dixie smiled and said, "You know, Bowler, I had that exact same thought, so I actually made two pies this morning; Dolly and I took care of the other one earlier today."

"Well, I appreciate the dinner, the pie, and the two of ya' watchin' the house while Reginald was away. I was glad to see nuthin' got broke, too."

Both Cousins girls smiled as they nodded, with Dolly saying, "We appreciate you letting us stay here, Bowler, so we were very careful."

"Hmm, I did have one thing I wanted to ask ya' about, though." Bowler reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a single, small goose feather. "Any idea where this came from?"

Knowing they'd picked up all the down and feathers they could find and that Dixie had resewn the broken seam probably better than it was originally, Dolly spoke before Dixie had a chance. "Nope, no idea."

Dolly purposefully ignored Dixie's frown but she noticed Brisco's raised eyebrow as he covered his mouth, probably to keep from laughing instead of covering his feigned yawn. She turned to Bowler with a smile and said, "Here, Bowler, you enjoyed it so much, why don't you have this last piece of pie?"

_The End_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_Thanks for reading and for any feedback you might offer._

_As noted in the opening note, this story was written for The Room Forum's Pi Day Challenge, with a prompt of Pi (the mathematical constant) or Pie (the dessert). March 14, 3/14 on the American calendar, has become known as Pi Day in the United States, with pie becoming the symbol for the day (particularly when adorned with the Greek pi, π symbol). Pies are usually round, after all.  
_

_Socrates stayed at Bowler's house in the episode "A.K.A. Kansas" while hiding out from Miss Rita Avnet. Unfortunately for Socrates and for Bowler's crystal and china, Miss Avnet found him and it took tipping a display cabinet filled with the collectibles over on her for Socrates to escape with his life._

_Though they loved each other dearly, the Cousins sisters seemed to be very competitive in "Wild Card", their one episode together. A quote from the episode may perfectly sum up their competitive nature: _

_**Dolly: **__"Are you mad at me Dixie?"  
__**Dixie: **__"Why would I be?"  
__**Dolly: **__"I don't know... stealing your man maybe?"  
__**Dixie: **__"We've been sisters for a long time Dolly. From where I stand it's just more of the same."  
__**Dolly: **__"Meaning?"  
__**Dixie: **__"Meaning you've always wanted whatever I had. I became a singer, you became a singer. I moved out West, you moved out West. I was abducted by Comanches, __**YOU**__ were abducted by Comanches!" _

_Dolly, portrayed by Elaine Hendrix (Meredith from 1998's "The Parent Trap"), would almost certainly have returned to love and irritate her sister again if the series had continued.  
_

_Though he doesn't actually appear in the story, I'll also mention that Peter Dennis played Reginald, Lord Bowler's English butler, in two episodes, including "A.K.A. Kansas" noted above._

_Finally, for the "coming things" aspect of the story, __Wikipedia says that refrigerators for home use were invented in 1913, with Frigidaire introducing the first self-contained unit in 1923. The introduction of Fre__on in the 1920s expanded the refrigerator market during the 1930s. Home freezers as separate compartments (larger than necessary just for ice cubes) were introduced in 1940. _


	4. Story 4: Pete's Dilemma

**Story 4: Pete's Dilemma  
**By VStarTraveler

**_Summary: _**_ Circumstance and necessity lead Pete Hutter to debate his options. Humor._

* * *

Pete Hutter had a pardon and a problem. Having the pardon, he was trying to go straight, but circumstances just weren't cooperating. Therefore as he rode his horse, he thought and thought until he finally spoke.

"When broke I am, my credit done,  
I consider all my choices.  
Fast cash I need upon the run  
To still my creditor's voices.

"Brisco would say to get a job,  
Though 'round here they're in short supply,  
So I debate once more to rob—  
Face mask, black hat, Pete's piece—bad guy!

"Public menace once more I'd be,  
Not the reformed man I became.  
For now the law has set me free;  
Should I go back to that old game?

"It's tough to toe that legal line,  
To hold that right parameter;  
So here I sit and doth opine  
In imperfect tetrameter."

He sighed, no closer to a solution than before. "Yes, horse, I'm in serious need of an infusion of dinero. If I don't get some soon, we're both gonna starve. And that," he said, pointing, "is where I could get it."

What Pete saw in the distance was a set of railroad tracks he'd been following. Previously self-proclaimed to be "not too concerned about being on one side or the other of that fine line defining legality," Pete had once not had a moment of hesitation about robbing a train. Now he wasn't sure.

Somewhere between the town he'd visited that morning and the one where he hoped to be by nightfall, Pete knew the afternoon train would be by shortly. Considering his poor options, he figured he could rob just one more train before going straight. After all, if he did it right, no one would know he'd done it. Deciding, he spurred his horse into action.

It was usually too difficult for one man to rob a train by himself with any hope of success, so Pete, with some help from his friend Owens, had developed a surefire method of bringing a train to an abrupt stop so the robbery could be conducted.

He'd place a big flat rock vertically on the track, and back it up by lots of rocks, logs, or whatever was available. Then, he's paint the face of the rock to look like what the engineer would see if the rock wasn't there. He still wasn't as good at the painting part as Owens, who'd taught him about perspective, paint strokes, and shading to create a realistic scene, but it only had to be good enough that the engineer wouldn't realize it until it was too late to bring the train to a complete stop. Owens liked the image to be perfect, but Pete knew good enough would do. In fact, a little jolt on impact was best, since it created the confusion he needed to get aboard, get to the revenue car, shoot the lock off the strongbox, grab whatever was inside, and escape.

When he got to the track, he found a big, flat rock that appeared thinner than he wanted but reasonably suitable, so he used his horse and a rope to get it into position. He backed it up with the few more rocks he could find and lots of sand. It looked rather precarious, but time wasn't on his side; it would have to do. Reaching in his saddle bag, he pulled out the paint and his brush.

Ordinarily, he'd go down the track so he could study the perspective from the train engineer's viewpoint, but considering that it was probably almost time for the train to pass by, he made a hasty judgment and started painting.

In minutes, the flat face of the rock had been transformed into a reasonable facsimile of the track and landscape ahead. A self-avowed classicist, it was, he judged, "far more convincing that the displays by those impertinent French impressionists." Nodding, he put away his supplies, his still-life charade complete.

It was just in time, too, since he heard the whistle of an approaching train. Hiding in a nearby swale, he made his horse lie down. Then Pete ducked down to get a good view and be ready to board the train when it stopped.

Perhaps the engineer's eyes were failing. Perhaps he was distracted. Perhaps he was asleep at the throttle. Or perhaps Pete's painting had gotten so good that the engineer couldn't tell the difference in that and the real thing ahead. Whatever, Pete Hutter cursed as he saw the train plow into his painted rock, knocking it out of the way as if chaff and flinging sand about like snow in a midwest blizzard. The train continued on without even slowing.

Pete stood up and shook the sand off himself and watched the train disappearing toward the little town from which he'd come. Knowing he wouldn't get another chance, he realized he might be forced to get a job, go straight, and remain a good guy after all.

At least for a little while.

_The End_

* * *

**_Author's Notes: _**

_Thanks for reading; I hope you thought it was fun. Any feedback you might offer will be appreciated, too._

_Pete Hutter got a presidential pardon in "High Treason-Part 1." If you haven't guessed, Pete has more than a little in common with Wylie Coyote from Looney Tunes. Like Wylie, when the coyote was allowed to speak, Pete had a tendency to use fancy words. Also similar to Wylie, Pete was apparently killed several times but always came back with interesting stories of how he'd survived._

_Pete called his pistol "Pete's Piece." He was quite insistent that nobody touched Pete's Piece. He also had a funny way of pronouncing Brisco's name, but here he used the standard method for the sake of his little rhyme.  
_

_Owens, the painter, and Pete successfully stopped a train using the method described above in the pilot episode. Owens was portrayed in this and one other episode by series creator and executive producer Carlton Cuse. The classic scene can be viewed at _

Youtube dot com/watch?v=xPQXbPpAfvQ

_This story was inspired by the Caesar's Palace forum's April Artists Bring May Flowers event, in which one is to write a poem or flash fiction story using two to six words generated by a random word generator. My words were: **lock**, **escape**, **became**, **charade**, **menace**, and **hesitation**. I used all six by combining the poem and flash fiction (very short story) formats._

_Finally, I debated whether to include this story in the Coming Things collection, since it has nothing to do with the coming things about which Brisco was always talking. However, it's about Pete's future, and, if nothing else, the train was coming toward Pete. ;-)_


	5. Story 5: Showdown

**Story 5: Showdown**  
By VStarTraveler

**_Summary:_** _When Amanda Wickwire confronts Dixie Cousins over Brisco, harsh words may be spoken and feathers may fly. _

_This story was written for the WA Random Opener Challenge. The first sentence of the story was dictated by the challenge. _

_**Author's Note: **__The story takes place in San Francisco in the summer of 1894. For more fandom information, a short primer is available at _

fanfiction dot net/topic/92815/95652563/4/#175876017

**_Disclaimer:_** _This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., is entirely my own. The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., and any and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners._

* * *

All right, maybe it wasn't the best way to start off a conversation.

Then again, maybe a conversation wasn't exactly what I wanted. Maybe a hair-pulling, knock-down, drag-out fight was what I was really seeking. Of course, I couldn't know for sure since I'd never actually been involved in one of those. Still, my fists, planted firmly on my hips, were clenched and ready to fly, if, as I suspected, she took offense at my admittedly crude comment and lit into me.

Dixie's breath caught as she glared at me in silence for several seconds while digesting my deliberately pointed insult and I waited for the coming explosion, for the fight to start. Then, to my great surprise, she exhaled slowly, stepped back, opened the door further, and, with a further sigh, said, "Come in. Welcome to Lord Bowler's home. I'm watching it while Bowler, Brisco, and your dad are out of town."

Somewhat disarmed by her action, I stepped into the foyer, unsure what was going to happen next. After putting my hat on a hook, I turned back toward her only to see that she was looking at me with a mix of understanding and compassion rather than the anger and contempt I was expecting. She had, after all, won, and now I was here standing before her giving up the last shred of my dignity while trying desperately to find some small hint that she was being as two-faced as I suspected, as conniving as gold-diggers usually tend to be. Even an inkling of duplicity would be enough for me to take it to Brisco, to make him reexamine the situation and, just maybe, give me another chance when they returned.

Instead of anger or scorn, she gave a compassionate smile as she took my hand, still loosely closed in a fist, and said, "I'm sorry, Amanda, for I know you care a great deal about Brisco. He cares a great deal about you, too, but with his relationship with your father, he seems to look on you more as a sister than as a potential lover."

"Sister," I replied with a huff as my hand slowly opened, hoping she hadn't noticed how tightly it had been clenched at first. "Always the sister, never the bride."

"Bridesmaid." Dixie nodded as if understanding, but she said nothing more when I gave her a questioning frown in response to her peculiar comment.

Seizing the opportunity, I said, "I think I'm a good person and that I'd be a good wife for him, but you...he seems to think you're so, so...perfect! Truthfully, no one's perfect, not you, not me, nobody! Why do men like Brisco think that, and want it, when all you'll probably do is leave and take him for everything he's got, rather than someone like me who'll be there with him, for him, forever?"

She looked at me, possibly debating her words or where her first punch should land, and I glared back, but in doing so, I could see the answer to my question standing before me. "Oh, fiddlesticks! I know exactly why. Because you're glamorous and beautiful and able to throw that word around to excite him like it's nothing while most of the rest of us women turn bright red at the mere thought."

She looked at me, confused. "What word?"

A tiny smile crossed my face, knowing that, for a brief moment, I had achieved the upper hand, proving that she was such a floozy she wasn't even fazed by its power. That instant was over quickly, however, as I whispered, "Lover."

Dixie gave a slow shake of her head as her renewed look of understanding made me feel even lower still.

"Amanda, I'd say you've been infected with this silly Victorian mindset that winds some people up tighter than your dad's pocket watch. Listen, what is an interesting, eligible man that we meet?"

I looked at her, not understanding, and received another pat on my hand in return.

"A potential male friend, Amanda. A potential beau! And what is a beau?"

Hoping I was following, I said, almost inaudibly, "A...a potential husband?"

She smiled as she nodded. "And your husband—if he's even worth those _two-bits_ you mentioned earlier—will love you and be your lover."

Despite blushing at her pointed jab over the "two-bits," I'd taken enough classes in logic over the years to finally understand. "So by extension of this train of thought, an interesting, eligible man might be considered a potential lover."

"Voilà! Even you stuffy academic types can be pretty good at connecting the dots when you set your mind to it."

I laughed, nervously, at her comment as well as the way she used her body language to convey it.

"Amanda, now, connect these. Brisco and I love each other. When the time comes, we'll be together, forever, through all the 'fors' and 'ins' you say in the wedding ceremony. I know him well enough to know he won't give up on me, and I promise you that I'll never give up on him."

Her words and the look in her eyes told me that she was telling the truth. I was defeated; my face, my body, and my resolve slumped as a result.

She saw and a look of concern overcame her as she gently steered me toward the settee. "Amanda, please, have a seat. Can I get you some tea? Water? Whiskey?"

I couldn't help but laugh again at the way she'd included the last one, but was surprised when she pointed to the bottle on the sideboard. I shook my head. "Thanks, anyway."

Taking the seat next to me, she said, "I think you knew all of that when you came here, right?"

I nodded. "Dad told me before they left, as gently as he could, but he's never been particularly good with girls, gentle, or romance, so I had to hope he was wrong."

"The Schwenkes may have done him some good. I think he was right on target this time."

I rolled my eyes at the thought of my father's new female friends and started to rise to go, but Dixie's hand gently grasped my arm, causing me to remain seated. Looking into my eyes, she said, "Amanda, what else is troubling you? Is there anything I can do to help?"

I hadn't come here to confess or to make a friend, but that seemed to be exactly what she was inviting me to do. I exhaled slowly, carefully, before turning to her. "Dixie, I'm 27 years old. I have three college degrees and just received my doctorate. I also have six patents, and several more with Dad. All that and Brisco's the only guy I've ever really cared about. Now, I see the two of you together and know that I'll not only never have him, I'll never have anything like what the two of you share."

A look of determination crossed her face. "We love each other, Amanda, but that doesn't mean you'll never have your own version of it sometime in the future when you meet that someone special who truly loves you back."

"Like that's ever going to happen. I can just see it: guys lining up in droves to meet the silly, academic-minded tomboy." I would have laughed in derision at the thought, but the conversation hadn't gone in any of the ways I'd envisioned it. Now, the pall of defeat had settled over me and admitting my fears of being alone forever made it worse. Fighting off tears while thinking of Dixie's earlier comment about Brisco, I added the final nail in my proverbial coffin. "Yes, guys lining up. ''We need a little sister, too!'"

Once again, Dixie's response was not what I was expecting. She handed me a handkerchief and asked, "Are you certain about that whiskey?"

"Yes! No. I don't know."

She rose from the settee and got the bottle with two small glasses as I attempted to dry my eyes.

"Sometimes a shot of whiskey can help us see things a bit more clearly," she said as she poured. "At our size, though, two shots makes things blurrier and three makes them increasingly hazy." With a conspiratorial look, she added, "Just between us, four or so can make us look up from the floor trying to remember how we got there in the first place."

Nodding, I accepted the shotglass and proceeded to take a sip. Compared to the little glass of wine I drank occasionally, the whiskey was strong, wickedly strong, and I winced as it burned its way down. Dixie said, "Cheers," and downed her glass in a gulp. She set it on the table in front of us while putting the bottle off to the end of the settee, well out of sight.

"So we don't get any wild ideas and stray into those less-constructive numbers of glasses," she said in reply to my raised eyebrow. "Now, let's look at your situation."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Amanda, you're a pretty young woman but have you ever tried to attract a man's attention?"

"Yes. Brisco's."

"Well...let's leave him out of this, okay? Anyone else?"

"Uhmm, there was a guy in college, but he never gave me a second look."

"Did you ever wonder why? Yes? Well, let's start by looking at what you're wearing."

I frowned. My pants were clean and the shirt only had a small stain on one sleeve. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"There's nothing wrong with your clothes when you're working, Amanda, but when you're working to get a man..."

"What do you mean? I need to change clothes?

"Not just your clothes, dear. You! You're a wallflower waiting to blossom, and with a few little pointers and some work on your part, you can do just that."

"I don't know..."

"Look, you have on men's clothes that, I hate to say, don't do anything to enhance your femininity. When you came in, you had on a man's hat, and your hair is in a ponytail more suited to an Indian or some of the men I saw in China."

"You've been to China?" I said in surprise, more interested from an academic standpoint in that than where I feared our conversation was going.

"Long story," she replied but didn't volunteer more before continuing. "You have a streak of dirt on your cheek—"

I nodded. "Probably grease," I said as I used my sleeve to rub it off.

"Ah, other cheek."

I switched sides and she gave a little nod before continuing.

"Your nails look like Dantès' when he's been digging his tunnel in Château d'If. You're a woman, Amanda; if you want to attract a man's attention, sometimes it's best to look the part. Do you have any dresses?"

"Of course I have one. A Sunday go-to-meeting dress."

She sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. But easily correctable. Let's go upstairs."

~ABCJ~

Three of Dixie's dresses were laid out on the bed and I was standing behind the screen trying hard to fit into another one. She was a couple of inches taller, but I was proportioned differently, with generally a little more muscle and definitely a little less bosom.

"We can get this one modified easily enough," she said, "and you can buy a new one similar to this, but maybe in a lighter shade."

I peeked around the screen to see what she meant and then sighed. "Dixie, this one doesn't fit either."

She waved for me to step out, which I did despite my embarrassment. She looked as I turned and then said, "Corset."

"I...I can't wear them," I replied. "They irritate me too much. But you're always so gorgeous in your clothes. You must wear your corset all the time."

She was nodding as she had me turn again before finally waving me back to the relative privacy of the screen where I squirmed again to get back out of it.

"Amanda, some people say that corsets are actually on the way out, that the new women's undergarments like Miss Flynt's will give us new freedom to move around and be more comfortable. And that we'll be cooler in the process, too."

Her voice changed to a whisper when she added, "Don't tell anyone but I've bought a couple of them and I think it's true. They still need a little work to get the kinks—and some of the seams—worked out, but I can see everybody switching to these in the next few years. And don't tell Brisco but I think they really are the—"

"Coming thing!" we said together with a laugh.

To my great surprise, she lightly slung one of the strappy little things over the screen. I pulled it down and held it out before me. "Ahem, I'm not sure about this. Or how to get into it."

She laughed. "I wasn't either the first time. Okay, hold it like this..."

Moments later, my face burned red but Dixie was very professional as she marked it with it in place and then proceeded to alter it while I was putting my own clothes back on. When I came back out from behind the screen, she said, "Have a seat. I'm almost done."

I was about to take her suggestion when, through the open door, I saw one of her showgirl outfits hanging in the armoire. I approached and lightly fingered the material. "This feels really nice. And it looks like it's of very high-quality construction."

"It only takes one time for you to learn that you don't skimp on your outfits for the stage. But, oh, that one time is _so_ embarrassing!" Her face was a bit red, surprising me that she could be embarrassed about anything. Having learned a little secret about her, I hid my smile.

I was about to close the door when I saw it hanging on a hook on the back of the door. "Dixie, these feathers. What are they for?"

"It's a boa, a showgirl's best friend. Keeping it in motion doesn't take much energy, but it saves you a lot of movement on stage and helps keep you a tiny bit cooler, too. The movement serves as a distraction, drawing attention away from you—or toward you, if that's what you want—and can be used as a cover-up to calm or to entice the guys in the crowd."

"Sounds like I need one of these."

She laughed. "Here, let me show you how it works, just in case you ever want to get one. If you do, believe me, your future husband will thank me...if he ever gets through thanking you!"

~ABCJ~

A little later, we were once again in Lord Bowler's front foyer.

I still felt very confused after all she'd said and done. She'd given me a dress that could be easily sewn to fit me better and one of her already-altered, strappy under-bands. In my pocket was a list of places where I might obtain more of each, along with some other feminine "necessities." She'd helped me with my hair, giving me some ideas on how I might vary the style. She'd also given me some advice that my own dear mother, had she lived, would probably have imparted to me years earlier, saving me a great deal of bumbling and helping my poor father avoid a number of embarrassing situations. Dixie had also promised to be there for me if I needed other information or advice.

With all of her assistance, I couldn't get the thoughts out of my mind. "Dixie, I really appreciate all you've done, but I have to ask: why are you helping me? I'm really sorry, but I never liked you before, I was mean to you, and I tried to take Brisco away from you. I don't understand."

"Amanda, sometimes we do strange things when we're in love. I suspect we've all been there at one time or another. At least I know I have—Doc. Big." There was a pained expression on her face as she said their names, but that changed when she added, "Even Brisco. The most important part to me is that you're Brisco's friend, and Brisco's friends are my friends...at least I want them to be. If I can help you move on with your life, help you be happy, then maybe we can all keep being friends."

I smiled at her, feeling a kinship with her that I could never have imagined when I'd angrily pounded on the door earlier in the afternoon. "Dixie, thank you, so much, for everything. And I'm really, really sorry I called you a two-bit, well, you know."

She put her arm around me and gave my shoulder a squeeze as we walked together toward the front door. Looking around toward me, she said, "Amanda, if I recall correctly, you really didn't call me that."

I was confused. Of course I had! But she was smiling as she shook her head slowly so I asked, "Okay, what do you mean?"

"I'm pretty sure your exact words were that you 'couldn't stand the thought of Brisco being taken in by a two-bit whore.' Truthfully, I agree with you completely; I couldn't stand the thought of that and would never stand by for it either."

Despite what had been a deliberately intentional insult, she was just as knowingly twisting my original meaning and forgiving me for it.

I whispered "Thank you" to her as she opened the door. With a silent nod and a smile, she sent me on my way as a new woman with an unexpected new friend.

_The End_

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_**

_Thanks so much for reading and for any feedback you might offer._

_Dixie was a professional singer and dancer, but she married Doc McCoy at an early age, and dated Big Smith, another member of John Bly's gang after their divorce. When she met Brisco, she was self-proclaimed to have had a number of lovers along the way, but she was an independent young woman and was never a prostitute. Because of her history, some might have ascribed the "W" word to her, but she would never have considered herself that._

_Amanda Wickwire, played by Anne Tremko, was Professor Wickwire's somewhat-nerdy, tomboyish daughter in the pilot episode. She was originally supposed to be Brisco's primary love interest, but the chemistry between Dixie and Brisco as well as fan reaction to the two put a quick end to the original plan. While Dixie and the professor became recurring characters, Amanda never appeared in another episode. This story is my attempt to explain her absence and how she might have moved on. _

_According to Dictionary dot com, the word floozy means "a gaudily dressed, usually immoral woman, especially a prostitute." It was first recorded in 1905 to 1910, but it's possible that it could have been in use in 1894 when this story takes place._

_A number of American graduate schools started accepting women for doctoral programs between 1893 and 1907. Considering that this story takes place in the late summer of 1894 with Amanda having been mostly out of the picture since early 1893, it's conceivable that she was in graduate school earning her doctorate during that time. _

_For the Brisco's "coming thing" bit of this story, elements of Olivia Flynt's early bra-type designs were patented in 1876. Her undergarments were available by mail-order at first, but, according to Wikipedia, they eventually "appeared in department and clothing stores and catalogues. Her designs won a bronze medal at the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanics Association in 1878, at the Cotton Centennial Exposition in Atlanta in 1884–5, and at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893." Hermione Cadolle of France (1889) and Marie Tucek of the United States (1893) were credited with inventing more undergarments that are closer to their modern bra-type form, but I'm not sure if they would have been available or if Dixie would have been familiar with them in 1894._

_Feather boas were popular in the 1890s._

__Finally, originating in the days of the Spanish, pieces of eight were coins of such value that they were often cut into eight pieces to be able to be used without overpaying. Each piece was a 'bit.' Later, the term carried over into the American Southwest, where two-bits was the equivalent of $0.25 in American or Mexican coins. A prostitute charging this amount for services was often considered cheap, usually due to looks, age, or some other perceived problem. To be called the term Amanda used was and still is considered a terrible insult.__


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